Blue Book
by Falastinnen
Summary: In a time after the passing of the Ring of Power, three unlikely elves met and bonded as inseperable friends. This is an account of one of their many adventures - or mishap, as is probably a more accurate title.


Blue Book

Must read disclaimer: Feighlyn is actually pronounced Felon (as in the criminals you see in the post office). Feighlyn is actually a male character. I cannot tell you why it is spelled the way it is, or perhaps pronounced the way it is. It is one of the strange things that happen when half of your writing force has a strange affinity with odd, odd names.

More Disclaimers: This fan fiction is only set in Middle Earth! In the beginning these were Lord of the Rings fan fiction. However, over time we deleted the cannon characters until we realized that the ones we truly loved were the ones we created. We have taken the liberty to do what we wanted with Middle Earth, but it's not ours and we are making no profit off of it. In this fan fiction most elves have traveled to the west, including the ring bearers. However, for medicinal purposes we kept Lord Elrond around, and for the sake of Mirkwood and our handsome Prince, Lord Legolas.

Notes about this story: Feighlyn and Shirah are recently married and residing in the ever tumultuous Mirkwood. Lichen is an excellent friend who floats between Rivendell and Mirkwood. Feighlyn's (Felon) true title is actually Lindsey James, 7th in line to the throne of Mirkwood. He is the nephew of Lord Legolas, and son of King Thranduil's sister. Feighlyn was captured and tortured by orcs a few years back, right before his marriage to Shirah. He recovered from everything save one nicked ear, and nightmares that haunt him constantly. No one knows of these dreams, as he deems it a weakness.

Desert elves are a race that we made purely for our own entertainment. Most of them are a lawless lot, always thieving and robbing, but actually doing any bodily harm. They originate out of the south and not much is known about them. Shirah's father was a Desert Elf Sword Master, and his skills have passed down to his abnormally short daughter. Mr. Desertscripts was killed defending Rivendell in a minor orc skirmish.

Please, please note that this story was prewritten _for entertainment. _We know the grammar isn't correct, we know some things in the story may not line up, we know the end doesn't even work very well. This is only here to see what people think of our characters and our plot line. Flames will be read and disregarded, Compliments will be printed out, petted, and taped in lockers.

The little letters on the side signify whose point of view the story is being told from.

FFeighlyn

LLichen

SShirah

NNarrator.

Now, on to the story!

I don't mean to be hopeless,

And I am not.

But I'm being tested,

And it' s not what I want.

If I'm unhappy,

Doesn't mean there's no joy.

Inspiration is little,

And evil is coy.

Standing upright today,

You won't point out my flaws.

I won't be beaten,

But do I know my true cause?

-J.M.

Feighlyn re-read the letter. What in the world was happening? What kind of mother would file lawsuits against their children? This was supposed to be settled!

He felt like crumpling the formally written note upon parchment. Now that he thought about it, what could he say to his mother? What could be said that hadn't already been? Surely not anything harsh, the strife had come to a perfection. How would he talk to Shirah about this? Feighlyn was sick and dreadfully tired of hearing complaints about her. Did anyone even give her a chance, let along know her?

And so he did what any remorseful person might have, he avoided them both.

"Lichen? Are you down here?" Lichen gave a little shriek of surprise and dropped her bow to clap her hands over her ears. Then turning to a smirking Shenzi she shouted,

"Yes, I'm here, what-do-you-want?" back in her face, which was all of eighteen inches away. Shenzi grinned triumphantly at all those who had been peacefully practicing archery down at the practice field. She was getting looks of daggers. Desert elves were not much liked anyway, but Shenzi was one they despised just a little bit more as she had a bad habit of sneaking around and scaring you by popping up in the places you least expected it. Like your closet, for example. Many a noble elf has wet their pants from shock of her, and was thus not much liked.

" I would like to speak with you." She said with an eloquent bow, before springing away, leaving Lichen to follow. With a sigh Lichen fled after her, hoping to escape the wrath of the elf she had nearly pinned to a tree.

When Lichen caught up with Shenzi, she found her idly sharpening her daggers, all signs of light carelessness gone. Lichen sat herself on a rock and waited for her to speak, knowing it would be better that way.

"Lichen, I am sincerely worried about Shirah and Feighlyn." Lichen looked at her, surprised.

"What ever for? They seem fine." Shenzi nodded emphatically, standing up and pacing.

"Yes! That's what I thought! Until I spied on them." Lichen looked at her, only minorly surprised.

"And what did you find out?"

"Well, I was hiding in that little boudoir in the wall, you know the one. She keeps her riding clothes in it. Well anyway, I was sitting there, waiting for her to open it, as she was probably riding later, when Feighlyn came in. Instead of his customary hug & kiss, he didn't say anything. I heard boots being taken off, his closet being opened and then Shirah came in. Now, she rushed up to him and was saying things in the nature of, "Hi, hello, how was your day?" when he just stopped her cold." Lichen looked at Shenzi, shocked.

"But he loves to be doted on! He fishes for compliments every chance he gets!" Shenzi glared crossly at Lichen.

"I know! But let me finish!

So he cuts her off short and simply says, 'I'm very busy, Shirah. Talk to me later.'"

**L:** I looked at Shenzi in total shock.

" 'I'm too busy?' He actually said that?" I said, horrified.

"Yes, then she tried to give him a back-massage and he said no!" I was shocked. Truly shocked. Shirah's back massages were renowned. It was rumored that she had gotten 10 gold pieces from a lady once for only five minutes of service!

"Then, when she asked if everything was okay, he got up and left, without a word." Now I new Shirah. She was not the type to curl up in a ball and fall to pieces. No, in fact the last time I had seen her cry was a few years ago next to Feighlyn's deathbed and even then she had stormed what was left of an orc camp and in rage killed anyone in her way before letting despair and sadness settle in.

I thought I could predict her attitude now. In fact I saw her very clearly in my mind's eye. She would be sitting doing something, alone, and slightly confused but not miffed, and by now she might even be amusing herself with what had turned Feighlyn's day so bad. And she would get up and practice a sword-routine right there in the receiving room, brushing the whole encounter off with each slash and a white smile widening.

**N:** "But Shenzi, why are you even concerned about Shirah and Feiglyn?" Lichen asked with a sly grin, for a moment forgetting the predicament. "I thought they were 'hopeless and insensible; totally unpredictable in decision making, and in need of a lesson by blade-tip'."

Shenzi looked away and possibly blushed; but you can never really tell with one so tan.

"I just… hate quarreling, that's all." She said with an unusually thick accent.

Doubtful.

Lichen was very concerned to be sure, but she had her own things to worry about. She had packing to do, instructions to leave, her sister to put in charge of her business and garden. Ick. Yes, many things to do. By tomorrow this would be over and she would have a good new bit of gossip. It actually would have bee fine to the public eye, had there not been a minor dinner…episode.

Shirah and Feighlyn (being rather important) got a seat near the head of the table, but about twelve seats down from Lichen and other more permanent guests. Feighlyn sat rigidly, smiling and nodding at convenient points (a skill, much used) but staring blankly at his plate for the majority of the first, second and third course. When soup bowls had just been cleared away when Shirah broke off her chatty conversation with a servant to say something to Feighlyn.

"Love, is everything all right?" He started and looked up at her quickly.

"Oh, ah, right. I'm just feeling rather…. Tired. I think I'll retire for the night." He stood up quickly and strode towards the door, causing some curious heads to watch. Shirah, quite concerned, got up and followed him.

"Feighlyn, are you-" he spun around and said through a fake smile,

"Shirah, love, please. I'm fine." She looked at him, reached to feel his forehead (as if he could get sick) only to have him jerk away and grab her wrists.

"Stop mothering me! I'll be fine, just tired!" Feighlyn all-but shouted. Shirah took a step back, looking at him through hurt and confused eyes.

"Feighlyn, please, not so loud!" She hissed, fire in her eyes.

Lichen as completely aghast. Never had she heard Feighlyn raise his voice, and by the look on her face neither had Shirah.

He leaned in very close, and said so quietly I almost couldn't hear him,

"Just stop caring!" and stomped out, leaving a very confused Shirah standing alone in the middle of the great hall in disgrace.

Shirah's face was toward the door and if you could have seen her expression it would have been one of hurt, quickly changing to anger. This was no the first time she had been yelled at in public and it reminded her of the mistresses she used to work for. But the face that was turned back to the table and gaping audience was one of steely indifference, sadly, this was a much practiced and almost perfect façade.

Shirah strode to the table, took a sip of water (everything still in silence), and casually walked down the hallway Feighlyn had taken, at an unconcerned pace. Unconcern was the last thing she felt.

Time Lapse

"Shenzi, Tranna, get the firewood. Dom, get water and Sharod, please help Feighlyn with the horses. Lichen will organize a scavenging party in a bit." Shirah, standing on a rock in the middle of the cave, orchestrating the set up, looked quite indifferent to the situation going on. Her indifferent smile and light attitude did their best to dispel any doubts. But occasionally her smile would not reach her eyes, her laugh ran hollow, and she was caught once or twice simply staring at the horizon.

"Dom, set the water on the fire to boil. Lichen, are you ready to go?" Lichen nodded and passed Dom a flat basket Frisbee style. He caught it expertly, then passed it on to Sharod! Sharod didn't see it in time and turned just enough to get cracked in the nose.

Finally, however, dinner was bubbling, the horses cared for, and the beds laid out haphazardly. To no one's surprise, Shirah and Feighlyn were on opposite sides of the fire. They didn't talk much to each other but there weren't any more public episodes, and especially Feighlyn didn't talk much at all.

It was one of the last nights traveling with the Desert Elves.

The next day toward evening they came to the cross roads where they would part, but since there was another camp already set they decided, for possibly over precautious safety reasons, to not spend the night there and just keep going for a few hours. Best not to trust anyone on the road, even a group of friendly-looking Rohirrim.

And so they took a moment to say goodbye. To Shirah's surprise, Tranna and Shenzi took her over to the side and said some unusually true-sounding kind things.

"Shirah, little puppet, don't be discouraged. It's right unnatural for one with so much joy. We can read people, you know. Feighlyn's not that mad at you. Ah, our boys think they're leaving without us! Bye love!"

Well it was kind even if sounding like talk to a fifteen year old.

**T:** As we rode off down our separate path, I glanced back one more time. Shirah was just now mounting and Lichen had already turned away, leaving Feighlyn watching us. His eyes met mine and I held them before he dropped my gaze and turned away. I sighed and faced the road ahead. I prayed, if only for his sake, that his problem would resolve itself else there would be many broken hearts.

That night around the fire we discussed our "business". This business was, in short, Magic.

"So, Tranna, you walk in the village hailing the Great Magician Domovoi-" I angrily interrupted,

"No, no, no. I am not hailing YOU! How about the elf sorceress Tranna?" Dom rolled his eyes.

"Absolutely not! It has to be me and Sharod!" I pouted for a minute before agreeing. If they wanted a stunning elf to announce what they were, they would get it.

The next day we somehow got up before dawn and started for the village. A perfect day for our job. The mist boarded the woods and the road leading into the town was almost cloaked in its thickness. Slightly creepy.

As we came to the edge of the forest and started hearing the awakening and bustling of this village we said our usual goodbyes to dearest Shenzi. They were something along the lines of, "Don't get in trouble, we need you."

I went ahead of Dom and Sharod to hail their greatness.

Dressed in beautifully bright colors and normal Desert attire that looked quite fitting to its purpose of being out of place and standing out; the fog made me materialize quite spectacularly.

The set up was just as I had researched: a market square with tables and wagons and stores forming a circle and a large open area surrounding the well in the center.

Yes, we would set up shop in the open, right next to the well.

I walked right to the middle and stood on the rim, everyone by now quite stopped from their work and staring I shouted,

"Noble citizens! Lords and Ladies! Let me tell you a tale of two of the most noble, wise, and terrible elves you will ever meet!" I could hardly keep a straight face! At the word 'elves' a murmur and a buzz went through the crowd. The sun was just rising, sending the odd shaft of light through the fog, adding to the mysterious atmosphere.

"These two noble elves have traveled from the sea to the Great City of Gondor! They have distributed the gold of foul kings to poor, hard working citizens who never saw more than three gold pieces a year." We being the hard working citizens.

"I now give you the Lord Sharod and the Knight Domovoi!" Seemingly out of nowhere two figures in silver gray capes and deep hoods made their way through the mist. They each had a gleaming, blinking dagger on their palms. The only sound was their cloaks swishing around their ankles. They came from opposite sides of the clearing, silently making their way towards me. When they reached my side they turned on their heels to face the crowd. With one motion they threw back their hoods and cast away their knives. They smiled kindly at the frightened townspeople.

"And we will help you if we can."

**N:** From Lichen's perspective, it had been a very uncomfortable, strangely ominous journey. It was just the three of them, just them! They didn't talk, didn't interact what so ever unless necessary. They were all acting like children- no one wanting to break the silence. If Shirah knew what the problem was she was sure doing a good job at playing dumb; and besides, it would be selfish and stuck-up for her not to just tell Lichen. No, not Shirah.

This left Feighlyn. After his ill-fated capture a few years ago he was not the same. He pulled into himself and was a mystery of true emotion. Who knew what could be happening. So close to Minas Tirith, someone had to resolve matters so as not to completely waste what could have been a beautiful journey. And he had been doing so well. So outwardly perfect as can be after life altering circumstances…

Yes, Lichen would talk with Feighlyn. She would be something of the issue…

Night had fallen and they were one by one going to sleep. Shirah was out, well, at least hopefully.

Feighlyn was sitting next to Lichen and she flung a hand out and swatted him.

"Ai! What was that for?"

"For you, you prick! You quiet, self-center, mysterious Moron!"

"Excuse me?"

"Yes! You! You're ruining this whole trip! Why don't you just TELL me the problem! Your silence hurts, and not just me, Shirah too, you annoying jerk!" She smacked him again.

Much to her chagrin Feighlyn smiled,

"Indeed," he said, "this horrible silent barrier, it's gnawing away at me and I can't help it." His face turned away slightly and Lichen's eyes widened at what she saw with the moon now showing his expression. It was a lying, lying grin. He was hopelessly desperate.

"Feighlyn…" she reached to give him a comforting hand but as soon as she touched him, he flinched away. Very quietly he said,

"Please… just leave me alone." She would not. But before she could say anything Feighlyn (now completely turned away) asked, "Lichen? I dream of the Sea. You want to know a part of the problem? They are nightmares. The Sea is a terrible turning black caldron and the Havens do not exist. Do you know what it feels like to have no escape?" He stood up and walked off.


End file.
